


Worth Something

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all want too much of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Something

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published 14th April, 2005

_What else do you want from me?_

_Too much, I fear._

To John Sheppard’s mind, that was the problem.

Everyone wanted too much of him. Including himself.

Hell, he was doing it even now.

John went through the motions of the exercise, like a _kata_, although not called as such. His body screamed weariness at him, driven too hard in the last forty-eight hours, of which less than ten had been sleep. He kept going, ignoring the pain, needing to move, to be active, to be _doing_ something.

It wasn’t the adrenaline high after escaping the Wraith-culled planet. That had worn off long before they reached Atlantis, leaving him nauseous.

No, this was different, an incandescent _something_ that made sleep - and more importantly, rest - impossible.

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his feet planted wide as he turned, swivelling on his leg. The staff he held was an extension of his arm as it dipped through the air, following a graceful, invisible path. And if his muscles trembled under the strain of control, there was no-one to see it.

His right hand and staff slashed through the air, and he followed it up with his left. As he turned with the exercise’s dictates, he saw Teyla at the door, watching him.

Not quite no-one.

The knots along his back and shoulders intensified. After their difference of opinion in the puddlejumper earlier, and the outcome of that mission, Teyla was the last person he wanted to see at this moment. Conversely, something close to relief surged in him as he met her gaze and acknowledged her presence.

“Teyla.”

“Major.” She regarded the staves in his hands before her gaze travelled back up to his face. “Do you wish company, opposition, or neither?”

He straightened, letting hands and weapons drop to his sides. “Both?” The answer was wry; she looked like he felt - exhausted, but with a need to be in motion, in action. He could understand that; they were much alike.

Teyla entered the gym, setting her bag over by the window and pulling out her own short staffs as she faced him. “Partnered warm-up, first level?”

John didn’t speak his answer, merely stepped into the starting position and waited for her to do likewise.

Partnered warm-up was more complex than the solo warm-up he’d been doing. It required watching her as they faced each other, seeing where her staff swung and adjusting his own moves so he didn’t smack either limb or staff with his own. It required control and was the first thing she’d taught him in this style of fighting.

The first level of the partnered warm-up was slow and graceful, and usually easy enough to execute. They were more used to battling it all out with swift certainty, pulling no blows, giving no ground.

But tonight, he was tense, she was tense, and when his overworked body couldn’t quite move fast enough to get out of the way of her staff, her overtaxed body couldn’t pull the blow.

It hurt. More than his usual defeats - probably because his body was so weary.

She took a step back from him, dropping her arms to her sides. Bone-weariness flitted across her face. “Perhaps this is not the best of times.”

He rubbed at the injury, massaging aching muscle. “You don’t say,” he remarked sardonically.

Dark eyes flared at his tone of voice, but her voice was reasonable. “We have neither of us slept in some time,” she pointed out. “Weariness is not a wise state in which to be training.”

“But you’re still here and so am I.” He grimaced. Even the thought of going to bed and lying, staring up into the night was turning his stomach. He had to be doing something. Active. “Sleep’s not much of an option right now.”

Her expression clouded, troubled by his words and the memory of the events of the previous night. “Major, about what I said while we were waiting for Orin...”

“Your ultimatum?” John knew he sounded cynical.

“No,” she replied. “When I said you did not understand family...”

He looked away. Her words - compounded with Weir’s inquiry about whether he had a message of his own to record - still pricked with the knowledge that there wasn’t a soul on Earth who much cared whether he lived or died except in a purely functional way. Nobody to whom his death might _matter_.

Even McKay had a sister, although, from what Ford said, it sounded like the two were estranged. Family, of sorts, even if they weren’t in contact anymore.

John had nobody.

And Teyla’s words had only reinforced that.

“I did not...” She trailed off, and squared her shoulders, changing what she’d been about to say. “I am sorry. I spoke in anger, without truly thinking. You have people you consider family as much as I.”

Her compassion stung, even more than her earlier unkindness. “Really?” John snapped.

The staff in her hand described an arc through the air, indicating the sleeping city beyond the room. “Atlantis is your home,” she said. “The people in it are your family of sorts.”

“They’re my responsibility,” he replied, knowing that he’d tensed at her words.

“And my people are my responsibility,” she answered. “That does not mean I do not care for them beyond mere duty.”

“My training--”

“Your training teaches you the bigger view,” Teyla said. “Mine is not that broad. It cannot encompass that far. And so I asked for time for Orin.”

John shook his head at her. “No,” he said. “You asked for time for you.”

A frown shifted across her features, faint, but telling. “I do not understand.”

“You were right,” he said. And winced. The words didn’t come easily, and before he could stop himself, he qualified, “Well, sort of.” _When you asked me to let something good come of the attack._ At her puzzled look, he sighed and changed tack. “Teyla, I have to see the bigger picture. Atlantis needs me to look at the bigger picture.”

“But you remained behind when I asked.” Her eyes held his, long-lashed and dark.

“I remained _because_ you asked me.” When Teyla stated her intention to remain behind, with or without him, she had not meant it as an ultimatum but he had taken it that way. There had been a moment when John considered flying away without her, before reality flooded in. He could not leave her behind, any more than he’d been able to leave Holland, Reynolds, and Bond in Afghanistan, or Colonel Sumner in the hands of the Wraith.

He had stayed behind for Teyla; not for Orin, or because he didn’t want her to think badly of him, but because to leave would have condemned her to the Wraith. That had been beyond his capabilities.

She acknowledged his assertion with a nod of her head, graceful and solemn. “Either way, I thank you for it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, the tightness still in his voice and body. And he knew the expression on his face was forced as he tried to make light of both her gratefulness and his capitulation. “At least something good came of the mission.”

The jokery was lost on Teyla. “That is not the only good,” she objected. “We have an estimation of their numbers - we know their strength--”

“Yeah, and the enemy strength is hundreds of Wraith ships on their way to Atlantis.” He tried to conceal his bitterness, but failed, and realised he didn’t want to - not before Teyla.

Last night, he’d seen the forces of the enemy with his own eyes - had nearly been taken himself as he fell into the puddlejumper with the frightened child in his arms. That moment had scared the shit out of him, with so much at stake, to come so close to being taken... It had shaken him, both then, and later as he thought over the message he’d sent to Colonel Sumner’s family.

John had built his career on slim chances and tight situations. But this was the tightest situation he’d ever been in. Atlantis was outnumbered, outgunned, and outclassed - everything that his training said was the worst possible condition in which to have to stand and fight.

The thing that truly frightened him was that Atlantis looked to him for leadership, to him and Weir and McKay for something that might get them out of this situation, that might turn the tables.

At this moment, John could see nothing that would give them even a fighting chance.

And Teyla saw that.  “You do not believe this battle is one we can win?”

He swallowed hard. Since they’d gotten back from the mission, he’d put on a brave face, his training coming to the fore again. He would show urgency, desperation, anger, and determination without qualm, but not fear. Never fear.

It was fear that twisted him up inside, a stomach-warping coldness that he’d felt many times before, but never with such force, with such nauseating horror.

It wasn’t just any fear, but fear of failing the people who needed him.

Atlantis.

Here, at least, before someone who had seen what he’d seen, who knew what it was to be responsible for the protection of a people, he could almost admit to the cold darkness that he kept from sight. “You saw their numbers.”

“Our defeat is not yet fact.”

“While there’s life, there’s hope?” John asked, knowing that he sounded disparaging, but unable to stop himself. “Teyla, the people on those Wraith ships will be kept alive, in stasis, until the Wraith on those ships want a snack. How many people do you know have escaped the Wraith?”

“I have.” Teyla regarded him evenly.

John felt bitter amusement at her words. She had accused him of being willing to ‘save’ the children of M7G-677, only to bring them to Atlantis to die. In the end, wasn’t that what he’d done to her?

“Other than you,” he said.

“We have encountered many situations where our hopes were fragile, and yet we have prevailed.”

Her assurance was both encouraging and naïve. “There’s always a first time,” he said, turning his back on her and starting to walk away.

A touch on his arm halted him. “I have lived with the fear of the Wraith since I was very young,” she said, her voice harsh as he turned to face her. “My life has been spent surviving their incursions.”

“Yeah, well, this time, you may not survive.”

“I may not,” she confirmed. “But I will not go without fighting - and neither will you.”

“So sure of that?”

The hand dropped from his arm, and she reared her head, lifting her face up, showing the fine lines and bones proud and strong. “I am sure of you,” Teyla said calmly. “You have my trust and the trust of the people in Atlantis, Major Sheppard; from Dr. Weir down to the most junior assistant. You will not fail that.”

And yet that was exactly what he feared.

When she received no response, she stepped around him to collect her bag, deciding against further sparring. But as she passed him on her way to the door, John held out one arm, lengthened by the staff, and stopped her. “Teyla...” He watched her face, looking for cues in her expression. “Teyla, earlier, you said you wanted too much from me--”

“And yet you gave me the time I wished for Orin and his family to find us.” Her gaze held his, compassionate and understanding, and yet also unyielding. “If we require much of you, Major, you will find it within you to give what you must.”

“And if it isn’t enough?” If he failed?

“Then you will have given your best - the best of what you had to offer. That is all we can give in the end.”

Trite, perhaps, but true, too.

Atlantis was as much home to him as any place on Earth had ever been. And the people here were as important to him as anyone on Earth - more so, because he was responsible for their safety as the ranking military officer on the base.

Teyla was family to him, as much as Weir or Ford or - heaven help him - McKay. He might go down fighting alongside them, but he dared not lose them. And, yes, he would give his best to be sure they weren’t lost to him. She was right about that, as well.

And she had absolved him of the need to succeed; was willing to accept the possibility of her death and his failure to prevent it and yet look him in the eye without judgement if he could not.

Her acceptance was important to him - the trust of at least one person in Atlantis who’d face death without recrimination to those who might have prevented it. John Sheppard would do his best and that would be enough for Teyla, no matter the outcome.

It was a freeing thought.

Something in him unknotted, and for the first time in nearly two days, the prospect of rest - if not sleep - wasn’t such a distant possibility.

John couldn’t think of anything to say that he wouldn’t cringe at later. So he said nothing, but turned to her, resting his staves in the curve between thumb and forefinger as he took her shoulders in his hands and bent his head towards hers, inviting her response. The gesture was an uncomfortable one, and he felt both nervous and clumsy as he waited for her response. Still, he trusted Teyla - of all people - to understand what he was offering.

Her lashes dipped once, covering her momentary astonishment, before they rose again, and she leaned her forehead against his, completing the gesture. Her people’s way of greeting and thanks, a gesture of honour and relief, friendship and intimacy.

Given what they and Atlantis were about to face, John reflected that it wasn’t much, but it was something.

\- **fin** -


End file.
